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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29564823">To Fall Down at Your Door</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleInABasket/pseuds/TurtleInABasket'>TurtleInABasket</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Boy Meets World, Girl Meets World</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>80's Music, Anxiety, Bisexual Jack Hunter, Episode: s02e13 Girl Meets Semi-Formal, M/M, Panic Attacks, Regret, mostly canon-compliant, omg they were roomates, who knows what Eric's sexuality is</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:06:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29564823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleInABasket/pseuds/TurtleInABasket</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Being so close, yet so far away from Eric was making it impossible for him to breathe. He kept thinking he’d either burst out into tears or begin to hyperventilate. Neither of which he had a particular interest in doing in front of approximately 50 eighth graders and their chaperones."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Hunter/Eric Matthews (Boy Meets World)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Fall Down at Your Door</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title and plot inspired by "I'm Gonna Be" by the Proclaimers.<br/>I love Jeric so much and it kills me how little fanfiction there is for the ship and just the fandom in general. I've probably read them all at least twice, if not more, so I decided to write my own while I wait for more. I'm not sure what to call this. It's not really fluff, but it's not all angst either, so you decide ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. As always, dedicated to my BABILA because she's freaking awesome. Hope ye enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Just great.  </em>
</p>
<p>It’s pouring, he has no umbrella, and his car is parked three blocks down the street. There’s no way he can go back inside to wait out the rain either; being so close, yet so far away from Eric was making it impossible for him to breathe. He kept thinking he’d either burst out into tears or begin to hyperventilate. Neither of which he had a particular interest in doing in front of approximately 50 eighth graders and their chaperones. </p>
<p>So, he begrudgingly trudges his way down the street in his dress shirt and slacks, no doubt ruining his hair, though a shower would probably do him good anyway.</p>
<p>Getting close to his parking spot, he reaches down to quickly fish for his keys in his pocket. But of course, with his luck, his wallet follows as he pulled his keychain from his pants. </p>
<p>
  <em> Sploot. </em>
</p>
<p>His shoulders drop, and he gives his head a half-shake, sighing defeatedly. Thankfully he isn’t one to carry too much cash, as a puddle on the sidewalk had engulfed his black leather wallet. He stoops down to retrieve it from the water, giving it a fair shake in an attempt to dry it off as best as he can. His eyes widen as he hastily unfolds the wallet and unzips the inner pouch, feeling around for a folded piece of paper. He relaxes when he feels that the paper is dry and no ink has likely run. </p>
<p>Tucking the wallet back into his pocket, he opens the driver’s side door and slides into his seat, taking a moment to rest his head against the steering wheel before sticking the keys into the ignition. </p>
<p>A slow jazz song begins to play on the radio, and Jack winces at the somber tune’s accuracy to his life at that moment. Needing an escape rather than catharsis, he opens Spotify and scrolls down to a long-forgotten playlist from years ago, when the world wasn’t quite as harsh and scary, and dreams of Eric still felt like hopes for a future instead of pitiful fantasies.</p>
<p>Jack never really had a ‘defined’ music taste, he sort of just listened to whatever he liked, though his song choices were often from completely opposing genres, making him quite terrible at curating playlists. Eric, though, he always had impeccable taste in music; he could just look at Jack and immediately think of at least 20 songs that would perfectly fit his mood.</p>
<p>It had shocked Jack when, on a particularly rough day, Eric had pulled out a mixtape and handed it to him as he moped on their couch. The cover had tons of little doodles on it, either inside jokes or just scribbles he could tell Eric drew while he was bored in class. And in the center, sloppy bubble letters read, “to jacky, you still owe me $12.47 for chinese food.”</p>
<p>Eric had said that 80’s music always made him feel better, and he thought Jack could use a pick-me-up. Jack hadn’t really liked 80’s music all that much, but over the next few weeks, he played Eric’s mixtape more times than he would ever care to admit. He listened until he knew every word to every song, until they all got stuck in his head on repeat when he was folding his laundry or trying to study. </p>
<p>He hits shuffle on the replica playlist also titled “to jacky.”</p>
<p>Pulling out into the bustling New York traffic, he makes a right-hand turn, finally on his way back to his apartment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>When I go out, yeah, I know I’m gonna be</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “So, nothing’s changed?”  </em>
</p>
<p>No, it hasn’t, Jack thinks, and suddenly he’s back at Pennbrook on a frigid December morning.</p>
<p>Delicate flakes of snow clung to the bared branches of the campus trees and blanketed the ground, sparkling softly. It would have almost been pretty if it didn’t mean that Jack was freezing his ass off. After a solid 10 minutes of contemplation and preparation, Jack finally psyched himself up enough to leave the toasty embrace of his blanket fort. He threw on his olive green cable-knit sweater and a pair of fuzzy socks with penguins on them, both of which were Christmas gifts from Eric last year. He shut his bedroom door behind him and headed into the kitchen, his socks shuffling on the floor like ice skates.</p>
<p>“Guess what we’re doing today, Jacky?” Eric asked, way too perky for this kind of weather and for this early in the morning. He took a sip from his <em> Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles </em> mug while awaiting Jack’s likely snarky response.</p>
<p>“Well, of course, we won’t be doing anything <em> outside </em> when it’s this damn cold. Because that would be absolutely miserable and not fun in the slightest,” Jack deadpanned, knowing his roommate well enough to expect the crazy coming next.</p>
<p>“We’re gonna go walk on the lake!” Eric smiled widely, completely ignoring Jack’s previous miffed comment.</p>
<p>“What? Absolutely not. I refuse. That is completely ridiculous. Are you actually insane? Do you seriously have the desire to drown while simultaneously freezing to death?”</p>
<p>“I <em> do </em>have the desire to walk on water like Jesus.”</p>
<p>“You know what? I have the desire to strangle you right now. And most other times you open your mouth.”</p>
<p>Eric folded his arms and huffed a bit. “Well, fine. I guess I’ll just go by myself then.”</p>
<p>“Oh, hell no.” Over the years, Jack had grown proficient in saving Eric from his own stupid ideas, but this time he could tell that there was no talking Eric out of this. So at least he could be there while Eric gambled with both of their lives, maybe convince him at the last minute not to go through with it.</p>
<p>Jack crossed the room and violently ripped his jacket from the coat rack, his stern gaze never leaving Eric’s as he did so. And Eric, the cheeky bastard, just grinned back at him, clearly pleased with himself in a way that pissed Jack off.</p>
<p>Bundled up in their winter gear, they made their way to campus, chatting leisurely along the way. They were both smiling as Jack knocked his shoulder into Eric’s side, the two of them effortlessly and unknowingly creating a scene that could have been straight from a Hallmark movie.</p>
<p>Jack can’t remember what they had talked about, it was such a long time ago. But he remembers Eric’s smile. He remembers looking at Eric’s hands, wrapped in mismatched gloves, then his hair, mostly covered with a beanie that had one of those little poufs on top, then his face. He remembers how cute Eric’s pink nose was. He remembers how when Eric’s eyes began to water from the cold, it made them twinkled brighter than he had ever seen them. He remembers feeling happy.</p>
<p>They had made it to the edge of the water, and Jack looked across the frozen lake, unable to see its end from where they stood. The panic he had been feeling since Eric proposed the idea was building up to a point where it was starting to get hard to breathe. No way could this be safe. In his distress, he failed to notice Eric approaching the shoreline. </p>
<p>“Come on, Jack. This is gonna be so cool!”</p>
<p>“Eric, I think this is a really bad idea. We should go home. How about a movie? Some hot chocolate?”</p>
<p>Eric waved his arms at Jack in a dismissing manner. “Relax, man. I used to play hockey on the pond near our house all the time.”</p>
<p>“That was a pond. As in, shallow. Not drownable in.”</p>
<p>Eric took a few ginger steps out onto the ice while Jack held his breath. Once he was a few feet out, he turned back towards Jack, his arms outstretched to coax Jack into joining him.</p>
<p>“See? Everything’s fine. You worry too much so—” A deafening crack echoed over Eric’s speech, and without even a second to process it, Jack watched him fall in.</p>
<p>His heart was in his throat. Eric was on their couch, encased in every blanket, sweater, and towel Jack could find, but Eric still wasn’t saying anything. At least he was shivering, a good sign that his temperature hadn’t dropped too low. Jack bit at his nails, never letting his eyes off of Eric, waiting for something, anything, that would tell him that his best friend was going to be okay.</p>
<p>It had all happened in a flash of lightning, and all Jack could recall was the way the panic gripped his body. It was all so disorienting; he felt like he was being choked, his heart pounded so fast it hurt, and his thoughts became swampy and weighted as if they had mass and were barely being supported by his head and neck. And yet, at the same time, he must have gone on autopilot because the first thing that isn’t all cloudy is the moment of him walking through the door with Eric in his arms, placing him down carefully before racing around like the Flash, trying to get Eric into dry clothes and under practically every piece of cloth they owned.</p>
<p>“Jack?” Eric croaked weakly.</p>
<p>Jack was at his side in an instant, tears beginning to well up in the corners of his eyes. “Hey, buddy. How’re ya feeling?”</p>
<p>“Cold.”</p>
<p>“I’m not surprised.” Jack gave a small chuckle, but there was no humor behind it.</p>
<p>“Good thing you came with me. I guess every dumbass needs a handsome guardian angel with a hot New York accent.”</p>
<p>A genuine tiny smile tugged at the edge of Jack’s lips. “Well, if I were an angel, I don’t think the big guy would be all too happy with me right now. I knew it was dangerous; I should have pushed harder for us not to go.” He looked down at his twiddling thumbs and then back up at Eric. “I’m just glad you only made it out far enough to have freezing water up to your waist.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Eric whispered solemnly.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t expect me not to hold this over your head for the rest of our lives. Never again am I following through with your dumb-ass plans.”</p>
<p>But Jack could never really say “no” to Eric. Even now, he would probably still follow Eric to the ends of the universe if he asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>When I come home, oh, I know I’m gonna be</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I’m gonna be the man who comes back home to you</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With the changing of the signal light’s color, another memory flashes in Jack’s mind.</p>
<p>He had been driving in his older, much more love-worn car to the restaurant where he was meant to meet his date. Drumming his fingers nonsensically on the steering wheel, he scanned the road, hyper-focused on his speed, the road signs, and anything else that would keep his brain occupied.</p>
<p>Jack pulled up to the restaurant, vines and fairy lights crawling up the main entrance. It was probably too fancy for a first date, but Jack was always one to go balls to the wall. He stood outside with his hands in his pants pockets, casually raking his eyes over any approaching cars, occasionally turning his head to check behind him or to glance at his watch.</p>
<p>“Jack?”</p>
<p>He jerked his head towards the sound of his name, tracing its origin back to a woman approaching him with a bright smile on her red lips. She had Topanga-length raven hair and legs for days that were showcased quite well by a short yet classy black dress and a pair of strappy heels. She was gorgeous.</p>
<p>“Hi, Caitlin. You look… amazing.”</p>
<p>“You clean up pretty well yourself,” she teased, giving Jack’s bicep a playful push.</p>
<p>Lifting one hand out of his pockets to point towards the door, he asked, “Ready to go in?”</p>
<p>“Oh yes. I’m starving!”</p>
<p>It was going perfectly. They were sat at a small table nestled into one of the dining room’s corners, the orange glow of a candle flickering gently between their glasses as they talked. From the outside, anyone could see that they were having a wonderful time, but if they weren’t looking for it, they’d probably easily skip over Jack’s glazed expression. He didn’t know what was wrong with him; he was here with the <em> perfect </em> date, and yet he couldn’t tell you what she’d been talking about for the last ten minutes.</p>
<p>It wasn’t that she wasn’t interesting; she had grown up traveling the world, for god’s sake. But no matter how beautiful she looked, or how eloquently she spoke, or how magnetic her personality was, Jack couldn’t help but feel bored. It was driving him crazy. He was getting paranoid that she was going to realize that he wasn’t really paying attention and snap on him.</p>
<p>“<em> Jack </em> ,” Caitlin drawled out. “Am I really <em> that </em> insufferable to listen to?”</p>
<p>Panic filled his eyes. “What? No! Of course not! I’m sorry, I’m just feeling kind of out of it today,” he said, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck.</p>
<p>She gazed at him softly, albeit a bit disappointed. “Hey, it’s okay. How about we call it a night, and you give me a call another day if you feel like giving this another try.”</p>
<p>“I really am sorry. You were completely perfect, and I’m a total idiot.”</p>
<p>She stood up, reaching for the coat on the back of her chair and pulling her hair out of the collar once she had shrugged it on. </p>
<p>She handed Jack a folded-up bill between her index and middle finger. “For the drinks.” Before he could refuse, she walked away, giving him a last wink as she made her way out of the restaurant.</p>
<p>Jack opened the apartment door to see Eric flopped on the couch with a bowl of popcorn propped between his legs and a few kernels in his hand. Hearing Jack come in, he sat up, moving the bowl to the coffee table and brushing off what was left in his palm. </p>
<p>His brows furrowed. “Whoa, you’re home early. Everything okay? I mean, you literally left like just under an hour ago.”</p>
<p>Jack let out a heavy sigh, shucking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket, all while wearing a scowl. He strode towards the sofa, throwing himself into the cushions.</p>
<p>“Sucked.” Seeing Eric going to say something, he added, “Don’t ask.”</p>
<p>Eric gave a curt nod before turning his attention back to the T.V. screen.</p>
<p>“What’re we watching, anyway?” Jack asked, reaching to grab a fistful of popcorn.</p>
<p>“<em> Chicken Little </em>.”</p>
<p>“Seriously? This’s got to be one of <em> the </em> worst movies ever made.”</p>
<p>Eric finished chewing before answering. “I like to think of it as a palette cleanser. Like, it makes you enjoy other movies more because while you’re watching them, you just think, ‘well at least it’s not <em> Chicken Little </em>.’”</p>
<p>Halfway through the movie, Jack went into his bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes, dragging a blanket back to the living room with him. Within seconds of him reclining back into his spot, he could feel the tug of his blanket being stretched.</p>
<p>“Give me back my blanket. You already have your own,” he snapped at Eric.</p>
<p>“But, Jacky, I’m still suffering from residual hypothermia from when I fell in the lake in December,” Eric pouted.</p>
<p>Jack’s eyes narrowed. “One, ‘residual hypothermia’ is not a thing. Two, even if it was, I highly doubt it would last 5 months. And three, if you don’t let go right now, I swear I will shove my cold-ass feet under your sweatshirt.”</p>
<p>Eric did not relent, entering into an intense staring competition with Jack. Then, at the same time as Eric tugged for more control of the blanket, Jack slid his feet between Eric’s chest and his sweatshirt. Eric let out something between a squeak and a squeal as the cold suddenly hit him, and Jack used the distraction to pull a majority of the blanket back over to his side of the couch.</p>
<p>“Get your feet off me, you heathen!”</p>
<p>“No, you asked for it,” Jack explained apathetically.</p>
<p>“I said.” Eric chucked a handful of popcorn in Jack’s face. “Get your damn feet off of me!”</p>
<p>Jack sat in open-mouthed awe before lunging towards the coffee table to arm himself with ammunition of his own. He threw the kernels at Eric as he ducked his head in an attempt to dodge, and soon enough, the two of them were jumping around on the couch cushions, launching popcorn at each other like overgrown children.</p>
<p>They quickly reached the bottom of the popcorn bowl, and Jack hurled himself towards Eric, knocking them both on their backs as they wrestled, both laughing and panting but not surrendering. Eric was able to gain the upper hand and pinned both of Jack’s arms behind his back.</p>
<p>“Say ‘uncle!’”</p>
<p>“Never!”</p>
<p>“Say it!”</p>
<p>“Fine. I will if I get to keep my feet in their personal warmer.”</p>
<p>Eric paused to think about it. “Deal.”</p>
<p>Jack finally caught his breath and heaved, “Uncle.”</p>
<p>Resigning the much-needed cleanup of the living room to a later time, Eric and Jack wound up back on the couch, a new movie playing now.</p>
<p>Eric was right; it was much better simply because it wasn’t Chicken Little. All of this was better simply because <em> Eric </em>was here instead of Caitlin.</p>
<p>Jack’s surprised he even remembers her name, let alone their date, especially when it had so easily left his mind that night as soon as he saw Eric’s face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>~~~</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>And if I grow old, well, I know I’m gonna be</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I’m gonna be the man who’s growin’ old with you</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s dreamt of it so many times, piecing together an entire future for them over years and years of imaginary rewrites and additions, so much so that he’s not even sure now what’s come from his asleep brain or his awake one. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps him going; this fantasy world where he wasn’t so foolish and insecure, where he’d told Eric everything he felt for him all those years ago when he maybe still had a chance.</p>
<p>He replays the scene so often, every line is practically engraved into his soul.</p>
<p>
  <em> Jack steps out of a midsize sedan, probably black, though maybe Eric had talked him into getting the dark blue one. Briefcase in one hand, he opens the broken gate door on a white picket fence and walks up a path lined in daisies to the front door. It’s one of those houses with two doors, a mahogany wood one behind a glass one. Neither is locked; they only locked them at night or when they aren’t home. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He enters, sliding off his shoes, the smell of vanilla and sugar dancing softly through the air. He smiles to himself, knowing how much of a mess he’s going to walk in on and knowing that he’s going to be the one that cleans it up. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Arms folded loosely across his chest and one ankle kicked up on top of the other, he leans against the archway leading from the front room to the kitchen. “Knock, knock.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Two heads with two equally large smiles turn towards him. One of the heads comes bounding towards him, and he scoops it up in one arm. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Daddy! Papa and I made cookies!” says a little girl with chocolate brown hair and big green eyes, probably around the age of four or five. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Jack chuckles. “I can tell. And just who is going to clean all this flour up?” He pokes her sides with his free hand as she giggles. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “We were hoping that you’d volunteer since we did the cooking and all,” Eric says as she joins the other two, giving Jack a quick kiss. “Welcome home.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Jack places her back on the ground. “How about we all do it together? It’ll go faster. Especially since everyone will be here in—” he squints at the clock hanging on the pale yellow wall “—about 45 minutes.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The three of them start putting things away, Eric helping their daughter wash the dishes as she stands on a purple stepstool up against the sink while Jack returns ingredients to their proper places in the cupboards and wiping the counters with Lysol. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Good hustle, team. Alright, time to get changed.” Jack dramatically lifts their daughter up above his head, placing her down on his shoulders and heading up the staircase, careful not to bump her head on the ceiling. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> An hour later, all of the Matthews, including the Lawrence-Matthews and Hunter-Matthews families, are out in the backyards. Alan and Jack are dragging the unnecessarily heavy grill onto the patio. The three brothers are in the middle of a conversation about who-knows-what, but Eric ducks out when he sees Amy and Topanga admiring their small flower garden. Amy asks her son for tips on her new vegetable garden, hoping to avoid killing as many plants as possible. Their daughter is showing her new playset, complete with a slide and a swing set, to another child that now resembles a young Riley, but before, they just sort of looked like a tiny Topanga clone.  </em>
</p>
<p>He always knew that Cory and Topanga would have kids, but seeing an almost grown-up Riley at the dance who didn’t even recognize him—because why would she?—was a sucker-punch to Jack’s gut.</p>
<p>This future is nice, perfect, domestic. Jack can easily see himself spending the rest of his days here with Eric, watching together as their families grow up and live remarkable lives, but it’ll never be real. He’s missed too much. And it kills him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>When I’m lonely, well, I know I’m gonna be</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I’m gonna be the man who’s lonely without you</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hates it. Hates that he comes home to no one, hates that he’s seen his brother probably 5 times in the past 15 years, hates that he hadn’t seen his best friend once, hates that he did this to himself.</p>
<p>He left Eric, then Rachel, then Shawn, and then every other person he ever cared about.</p>
<p>
  <em> Lose one friend, lose all friends, lose yourself. </em>
</p>
<p>He’s angry now, cursing himself for always making the wrong choices. How had he ever let it get this far? He’s fighting through furious tears, and his knuckles turn white from clutching the steering wheel. He’s lost 15 years. He’s become a stranger to the people who might as well have been his family once upon a time. The rage builds and builds until he’s clenching his jaw so hard it’s probably dangerous, and an inferno burns in his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>But I would walk five hundred miles</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he jerks into the left-hand turn lane, no longer interested in going back to his apartment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>And I would walk five hundred more</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s not sure where he’s going, but as he makes more and more turns, he begins to understand where his subconscious is trying to go.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly he’s pulling into a spot, shoving money into the meter, and running down the sidewalk as fast as his legs will allow him.</p>
<p>When he gets to the building, he can’t even be bothered to buzz up; he just grabs the open door from the last person who went in. He couldn’t care less if they call security on him because he’s already taking the stairs two at a time, gripping the railing to drift around the corners when he has to turn to the next flight.</p>
<p>When he makes it to the 5th floor, he’s panting, and he can feel beads of sweat forming at the nape of his neck, but he doesn’t stop running, watching the apartment number go up as he speeds past them. He almost misses it, has to backtrack, and nearly falls over. His hands are shaking as he goes to ring the doorbell, and he waits for what feels like hours before he hears the deadbolt click. The door swings open.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>To fall down at your door</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m so sorry. For everything. And I love you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It took me sooooo long to write the fantasy future scene because every time I wrote a sentence about their daughter I had to physically walk away from my computer and scream because it made me so sad. I purposely didn't give her a name, but if you're curious, it's Bronwyn. I have a fic in progress about her, but I'll probably keep it to myself since I personally don't like when fanfic heavily features an OC. Thank you for reading, have a beautiful day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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